“If a one-liner hurt Miller’s business, what do you think an article is going to do? He’d starve or leave town.”
“Liver mush,” Mike responded simply.
“Sam Miller likes liver mush?”
“Probably eats it three times a week for breakfast, but that’s not what I had in mind. Just because you research an article doesn’t mean you have to print it.”
Hodges grinned. “I see, but I couldn’t spend a lot of time working on something that wasn’t going to run.”
“It might be a quick dead end, but then again—it might be the piece of journalism that wins you a Pulitzer prize.”
MIKE FELT ENERGIZED DURING HIS DRIVE TO THE CHURCH. Appearing in court was stimulating, but the investigative part of the law, whether researching a legal issue or uncovering a factual matter, had always been his favorite part of the practice. He could happily sit for hours in front of a computer screen, analyzing a tricky point of the law and enjoyed tracking down and interviewing hard-to-locate witnesses in out-of-the-way places.
Most clients he’d represented in criminal matters had been so obviously guilty that a jury trial wasn’t the prudent path to follow. In those cases, he usually worked out a plea bargain. The Danny Brewster burglary and Ridley moonshine cases were different. Because there was doubt in his own mind, the desire to find the truth about the charges against his clients motivated him to work harder. In the Ridley matter, the result was a stunning victory. Danny Brewster’s story had a tragic conclusion. Mike wasn’t sure where Sam Miller’s future lay.
When he entered the administration wing of the church, Delores put down her magazine and stifled a yawn.
“You have a big stack of congratulatory phone messages on your desk.”
“Congratulating me for what?”
“The baby, of course. Have you forgotten that you’re going to be a father?”
“No, I’ll get right on it.”
Mike settled in behind his desk and began returning phone calls. The wholesale excitement about the baby was touching. Several wanted to talk at length, offering advice about everything from safely designed nursery room furniture to the wisdom of using a pacifier. It was almost five o’clock before he reached the bottom of the stack. He stood up, stretched, and stuck his head out the door.
“That’s it,” he told Delores. “I’m up to date.”
“Not quite,” she replied, holding up a thinner stack. “These came in while you were on the phone.”
“Should I return them now or tomorrow?” Mike asked.
Delores flipped through the names. “I’ll pull out the ones who will be upset if they don’t hear from you today.”
AN HOUR LATER, MIKE LEFT THE CHURCH. WHEN HE ARRIVED home, Peg was in the kitchen stirring a pot of soup. He came over to the stove and sniffed. She greeted him with a kiss. Judge, who lay in his bed in the corner, raised his head and gave a short woof.
“What did you have for lunch?” Peg asked.
“Brooks Brothers.”
“I thought I tasted a hint of onion. Something light would be good for supper. Will you stir while I put together the salad?”
Mike took the spoon. Peg opened the refrigerator.
“What happened in court?” she asked.
Mike told her about his day. She listened without comment until he reached the part about his encounter in the hallway with Mr. Forrest.
“Maxwell Forrest squeezed all he could from you when you worked for him,” Peg said matter-of-factly. “Now that you’re no longer under his control, he’ll treat you differently.”
“I thought you loved it when I was part of the firm.”
Peg placed two large salad bowls on the table. “I did. But you’re in a different place now. If Mr. Forrest thinks you’re going to hurt his business, he’ll cause problems for you.”
As they ate, Mike related the private courtroom conversation with Judge Coberg about Sam.
“I know what happened,” Peg said, pouring more dressing on her salad. “Sam has told him things about court cases.”
Mike put down his fork. The idea that the judge may have received information about a legal dispute from a totally independent source like Sam Miller was unnerving. Peg continued, “I don’t know, of course, but it fits what we know about him. He could have had a dream or something.”
“I tried to talk to Sam about it, but he wouldn’t open up. He has notebooks filled with information about dreams and visions he’s had. Some of them are symbolic and so vague it’s impossible to figure out. I went behind his back to Muriel about the judge, but—Sam cut me off.”